There's a man in the world who is never turned down, wherever
he chances to stray; he gets the glad hand in the populous
town, or out where the farmers make hay; he's greeted with
pleasure on deserts of sand, and deep in the aisles of the
woods; wherever he goes there's the welcoming hand--he's The
Man Who Delivers the Goods. The failures of life sit around and
complain; the gods haven't treated them white; they've lost
their umbrellas whenever there's rain, and they haven't their
lanterns at night; men tire of the failures who fill with their
sighs the air of their own neighborhoods; there's one who is
greeted with love-lighted eyes--he's The Man Who Delivers the
Goods. One fellow is lazy, and watches the clock, and waits for
the whistle to blow; and one has a hammer, with which he will
knock, and one tells a story of woe; and one, if requested to
travel a mile, will measure the perches and roods; but one does
his stunt with a whistle or smile--he's The Man Who Delivers
the Goods. One man is afraid that he'll labor too hard--the
world isn't yearning for such; and one man is always alert, on
his guard, lest he put in a minute too much; and one has a
grouch or a temper that's bad, and one is a creature of moods;
so it's hey for the joyous and rollicking lad--for the One Who
Delivers the Goods!
_Walt Mason._